


Wishes Can’t Come True If They Already Have

by argelfraster_z



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bisexual Character, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, Lesbian Character, Loss of Parent(s), Raoul and Erik should leave them alone, Wishing on stars, Young Love, there’s not a tag for creepy statues and that makes me so sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:27:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26985148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argelfraster_z/pseuds/argelfraster_z
Summary: It’s been almost a year since young Christine Daaé lost her father, and now that it’s finally spring, Meg has a surprise for her. (oneshot)
Relationships: Christine Daaé & Madame Giry, Christine Daaé/Meg Giry, Raoul de Chagny & Christine Daaé
Comments: 10
Kudos: 12





	Wishes Can’t Come True If They Already Have

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s another oneshot for you! This is pre-canon, in some universe where Christine is living in the opera house and hanging out with Meg a lot. Mostly fluff if we're being honest. Have fun! :)
> 
> Music: New Perspective by Panic at the Disco, Run Away With Me by Sufjan Stevens
> 
> TWs: Very very minor for loss of a parent
> 
> Enjoy!

An entire year. As soon as summer came fully, Christine thought, it would have been an entire year since her father had passed away, leaving her completely and utterly alone in the world. She owed her life to Madame Giry, she knew, for letting her join the corps, for giving her a purpose, something to work towards again. 

Christine looked over the lip of the book she was reading at her friend, sitting on the floor, stretching. How could anyone be that flexible? Meg looked over at her and grinned, springing suddenly to her feet. Christine found herself growing anxious. It was late, well past their bedtimes, and usually that grin meant that Meg was going to do something that could get them in trouble.

No matter how much Christine protested, she loved every second of it. 

This girl had kept her sane, Christine thought, carefully closing the book. Meg had taken her under her wing, helping and training her to fit in among the dancers, though Christine doubted she could ever be as good as any of them. But the older girl was a good teacher, and even Madame Giry had praised her progress since her arrival. So long and so short, a year. She had started as “Little Christine,” just as her friend had once been, and sometimes still was, “Little Meg,” but that had slowly changed as Christine had improved, and as Meg’s mother had taken her more and more into her care. She could be frightening, of course, but Christine knew that this woman was as close to a mother as she was likely ever to get. That is, unless the Angel appeared to her. Her father had described the Angel as a tall, thin man, but she preferred to imagine it was a woman in flowing pale robes who would scoop her up in her delicate yet strong arms and carry her away. 

Nothing like what Meg was doing, practically dragging her from the room.

“Come on,” she said quickly, “I have a surprise.” 

These usually involved Madame Giry, who hated surprises, they both knew, but as the older girl took the lead through the back hallways of the opera, they did not come closer to the older woman’s quarters. Where was she taking her? 

Her favorite memories of her year in Paris were the nights she had spent with Meg, staying awake long after they were supposed to, keeping the lights off and giggling to each other in the darkness. During the autumn months, when they first really began to talk, Meg would tell ghost stories, stories of a masked man who snuck through the opera scaring patrons and singers alike. Some nights she would make the ghost scary, sometimes she said he was only a stagehand who got bored with his job and started to torment everyone around him as revenge. It all depended on the evening, and sometimes the stories would even change in the middle. Christine never argued.

Meg let go of her hand when they reached the back stairs, rickety things that were not normally trusted by any of the leading singers. She darted up quickly, Christine following close behind, almost tripping in the long skirts she always wore, except onstage. Knowing that Meg was too far ahead to see her, she smiled, watching the dancer making her graceful way up the stairs. 

She smiled so much now, usually when they were together in their room with the lights out, talking, and all she could see of her friend was a vague outline against the dark. If only Meg knew how much she smiled while she told the stories. She wondered if Meg ever smiled like that when Christine spoke to her through layers of darkness, though she doubted it with all of her heart. Surely Meg did not feel the same way she did. No, those smiles were for Christine and Christine alone, and she would not give them up, not even to the person they were intended for. 

There was another person whom she had smiled at in the dark, of course, but she had stopped thinking about him long ago. Or so she told herself. Raoul, her childhood companion, the one she had needed to leave far too soon. If he showed up now, she thought, she didn’t know what she would do.

They ran up flights and flights of stairs, and Meg ducked suddenly through a small door in the side of the stairwell and into the rafters of the stage, into the forest of beams that criss-crossed the ceiling she so often glanced up towards. It was so far down, and the floor was completely open where the large wooden supports did not traverse it. Christine watched in shock as the blond jumped lightly onto the first beam. Her smile shone brightly.

“Come on!” Christine took a deep breath. She was not usually a girl of great courage, but she had to do this. For Meg. For her… friend. She pushed off from the place where she stood, landing neatly on the wood next to Meg and teetering slightly before Meg’s hand caught her own and she steadied herself. The blond’s eyes twinkled with mischief as she took the next jump, Christine following right behind, still clutching onto her hand. In this way, they crossed the latticework of the stage, Christine feeling a thrill of happiness every time she felt Meg’s hand squeeze her own. She watched her with longing, the way her thin, strong frame hopped neatly from beam to beam, her ponytail bouncing lightly with each step. She realized that she probably watched her with the look of a girl in love. 

And why shouldn’t she? Christine reasoned, trying not to blush at the thought. There was no one to judge her for her feelings. Granted, perhaps it was strange, perhaps it was naughty to feel that way about other girls, but it wasn’t something she could control, she thought seriously. It wasn’t like she had chosen to love this girl, it had just… happened. She couldn’t imagine it not happening, now.

“Up here,” Meg instructed as they ducked through another low door on the other side of the stage. A ladder stretched upward, and Meg darted up, stopping a few feet from the top to pull a few belongings from a small cupboard in the wall before pushing open the trapdoor at the top and slipping out. Christine’s hand suddenly felt empty without another to hold it, but, taking a deep breath, she climbed up after, trying her best not to tangle her feet in her skirts. This opera house was not made for skirt-wearing girls, she thought, jealous of Meg’s almost boyish clothing. 

She gasped as she emerged onto the roof of the opera house. The city stretched all three hundred and sixty degrees around her, as did the stars. A huge statue loomed in the dark, and Christine shivered, both from its imposing presence and from the cold that suddenly nipped at her. Meg took notice, handing her a blanket that she must have collected from the cubby. Christine draped it around her shoulders, the warmth of the wool encasing her instantly. 

She watched as her friend shook her own blanket out, spreading it out on the ground and sitting down on top of it before looking over to her, unbinding her hair and laying back, letting it cascade around her, bright against the dark blanket.

“I only get to do this in the summer,” she explained. “And I’ve never had anyone to do it with before. Come on, sit down! I can show you the constellations.” Christine had only ever really looked at the stars with Raoul, and though she denied it to herself, she thought about him more than wanted to admit. She lay the blanket next to Meg’s, giving her some personal space and sitting down, not comfortable relaxing so thoroughly under the gaze of the statue. She stared off into space, grateful to be back under the sky like this. Maybe her father was watching her, watching over her, even now. Maybe the statue was her father, she thought, feeling guilty for being so afraid of it. No one deserved to be treated like that, even if they did look scary at first. Upon closer inspection, the statue proved to be a nothing but a man holding some odd stringed instrument. Why had she been afraid? She couldn’t remember. 

She didn’t notice that her friend had turned onto her side to face her until she spoke. “What are you thinking about?” she asked quietly, and Christine looked down, avoiding her gaze.

“My father,” she said softly, letting herself lie flat on her back to stare into the stars, crossing her ankles awkwardly. She shivered again; lying on the blanket was comfortable, but didn’t provide much shelter from the cold. Of course, it was spring, nearly summer, but that didn’t mean all the nights had to be warm. In this month, it had proven to be quite the opposite.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” Meg said softly, still turned toward her, and the pet name struck something odd in Christine, making her smile, though this time it was more sad than happy. “I wish I didn’t know what that was like.” Christine nodded, wanting to turn to Meg but scared that she had looked away already. “Are you cold?” she asked, and Christine nodded. Meg quickly sat up, gathering her blanket, and came to lay next to her, pulling her own blanket over both of them. “Better?” 

“Better,” Christine smiled, trying to still her beating heart. She hadn’t been this close to someone who was not her father since Raoul, except for while she was dancing, and she was terrified of losing Meg like she had lost her one real friend. Of course, she and her father had needed to leave the little town where they had met, but she didn’t have any idea where Raoul was now, and though she missed him for the world, she didn’t expect to see him again, not in a million years. Meg and Madame Giry were the only people she really knew in this world now, and if they were gone, she didn’t know what she would do. There wouldn’t be anything  _ to _ do. Maybe she could simply live out the rest of her days in the opera house, lonely, sneaking around like the ghosts Meg talked about. 

She turned onto her side to look at her friend, and was startled to find that Meg had been doing the same. Meg laughed.

“I don’t know why that little boy you always mention ever let you go,” she said, reminding Christine once again of just how often that  _ little boy _ had been on her mind, “you’re so pretty.” 

_ You’re so pretty. _ The words echoed in her head, and she quickly turned back to the stars to hide her blush, letting her hair fall into her face. Meg laughed again. “And so shy,” the older girl continued, brushing the hair out of the way. Christine wasn’t sure what to say. All semblance of human speech had left her ever since she saw Meg framed against the city lights in her trousers, the moon lighting on her blond hair. No, perhaps it was before that, maybe it had been the first time she had seen Meg dance, her motions the image of power and grace. She had wanted nothing more than to look like that, to embody calm and yet to have such strength. It was how her father had seen her, she thought, or how her father wanted her to be. Beautiful, and kind, and strong. 

A cold breeze drifted across the rooftop, and on instinct, Christine drew the blanket closer around her, her hand skimming Meg’s in the process.

“You’re freezing,” Meg observed, and before Christine could process what was happening, the blond had pulled her in towards her, Christine resting on her side against her friend, who managed to smirk while also looking concerned. She wondered if the older girl could feel her heart hammering against her ribs. She was caught between emotions, missing Raoul with all her heart, remembering nights like this under the stars, near the ocean, and loving her friend, this girl she had tried to spend every second with, wanting this moment to last forever.

Loving, she realized. That was the word she had used. It felt right. Yes, loving. 

She looked back to the scene above them, her grip tightening on Meg’s arm as they both gasped to see a star streaking across the sky. 

“Make a wish,” Christine whispered, on instinct. It was something her father had done, treating those falling stars like messengers and hoping the wish would come true. 

“It’s beautiful,” Meg whispered back, her hand finding Christine’s own under the blanket and squeezing it tightly. 

“And tragic,” Christine murmured, though she wasn’t sure why, and Meg nodded. “What did you wish for?” 

Meg giggled, and Christine could almost hear the smile on her face. “I can’t tell you. Then it won’t come true.”

“Oh,” she responded. She remembered that, now. It was something else her father had said, when she and Raoul had tried to share their wishes with him once. Too much of her focus was on their joined hands, and not enough on their conversation, and she tried to redirect her thoughts, fruitlessly. 

“But,” Meg went on, looking down towards where Christine’s head was resting on her shoulder, “last summer, I was lying here, by myself, and I made a wish. Do you want to know what it was?” Christine nodded. She wanted to know everything about her, this girl, this dancer, who seemed to know so much more than she herself did but was still able to laugh, to play, to leap across beams in the rafters of opera houses. She had never met someone who could do both, and who could make her heart race like this. She had never met someone so pretty, and found herself blushing again at the thought alone.

“I wished,” Meg started, her voice no more than a whisper, “I wished that someone would come to the opera house, someone like me, and that I could watch the stars with them. That I would need to keep two blankets in the hole by the ladder. Have someone to explore with, be with. That’s what I wished for.”

“But it can’t come true now,” Christine said, not letting herself believe what she desperately wished to, “since you said it out loud.”

Meg shook her head, laughing and squeezing Christine’s hand again. “Of course it can’t now, silly. It already did.” Christine’s heart flew into her throat. She didn’t mean her, did she? Well, maybe she did. But it was clear what the wish was for, her brain told her heart as it slunk back towards her chest, Meg had wished for a friend. And she had gotten one, she thought, a smile tickling her face, for friendship with Meg was still wonderful. After a moment, during which Meg’s grip on her hand seemed to tighten, she spoke again.

“There was another part to the wish.” Christine’s heart scampered back to her throat.

“What was it?”

“I… I wished I would fall in love with her.”  _ Her. _ Fall in love with  _ her _ , Christine realized frantically. It couldn’t be possible, she didn’t dare to let herself believe. 

“And did it come true?” she questioned, terrified of the answer. Meg probably wasn’t even talking about her. She was probably talking about someone else, another dancer, perhaps, and if she was talking about her, it wasn’t in that way. It couldn’t be. And yet… 

“It did,” Meg said softly, turning away from the stars to move another loose curl away from Christine’s face. “And I wished she would fall in love with me too.” 

If Meg really did mean someone else, Christine realized, then she would remember this moment with regret and embarrassment for the rest of her life. And if Meg did mean her, and she failed to take action, backed away from this discovery she hadn’t thought possible, she would regret it too. Which left…

Without really thinking about the words, she responded softly. “I think she did.” She turned and found Meg’s dark gaze pinned upon her own, a surprised smile framed by blond hair that reflected the starlight. “If…” Christine stopped, suddenly afraid of her own course of action, but Meg nodded, and she continued, “if you and… and her… were on a roof together, under the stars, would… would you be mad if she kissed you?” She was terrified, scared out of her mind of going too far, being too quick, but if this moment passed and never came back… she couldn’t think of anything worse. 

Meg smiled at her, bringing their joined hands up to her mouth where she kissed Christine’s knuckles before releasing her hand and bringing her own to Christine’s cheek. Christine was sure her friend—were they something else, now? She didn’t know—could hear her heart now, beating so rapidly inside her chest. 

“I can’t think of anything I’d want more,” Meg whispered, her gaze pinning Christine to the spot. “Do you think  _ she _ would be mad?”

“I know she wouldn’t,” Christine responded, moving her hand to Meg’s shoulder and feeling like she might fall over just from the sheer fantasy of it. If it hadn’t all felt so real, she might’ve thought she was dreaming. 

There was no more space for words as Meg closed the distance between them, gentle, strong, beautiful. She smelled of the opera, Christine realized, musty rafters and hidden secrets, and of flowers, a scent that brought her back to sitting in the grass with her father, making chains out of Paris Daisies and decorating his violin with them. 

She pulled away, not taking her hand from Christine’s face, her eyes once again seeming to look straight into her soul. “That was the last part of my wish,” she murmured, their faces close enough that Christine could feel her breath on her lips, which only made her want to kiss her again, so she did. 

Her father had once said that when stars are wished upon, they almost never listen, much less obey. But when two people wish, he had said, when they wish on two different stars at different points in time for the exact same thing, then those stars have no choice but to take notice. Because if those two people have managed such a feat, then anything is possible. 

Christine smiled against Meg’s lips, remembering this, remembering her own wish. Later, she would tell Meg what she had asked the stars for not minutes before; later, she would tell her what her father had said, that her father had been right. 

But not now, because now, words were the last thing on her mind. 

**Author's Note:**

> Awwwwwww :) these two are a bit of a rarepair, but hey, I’m here for it. Hope you enjoyed! I like comments if you want to leave them!
> 
> Also, 3 guesses as to what another name for Paris Daisies are... 
> 
> A


End file.
